Demon's Pass (23 page)

“You are riding an Indian horse,” Standing Bear noted.

“Yes.”

“How did you come by such a horse?”

“It was the horse of Bloody Axe, the Cheyenne who captured me,” Elizabeth said.

Standing Bear laughed, then spoke to the others, who joined in the laughter.

“Why do you laugh?” Elizabeth asked.

“It is a good trick for you to steal the horse of the Cheyenne who stole you. Now he has no horse to ride to find you.”

“He has no need of a horse,” Elizabeth said, now speaking in Cheyenne. Her words were understood by nearly all of them, and many of them gasped in surprise.

“You speak the language of the Cheyenne,” Standing Bear said, expressing the astonishment of them all.

“Yes.”

“Why is this?”

“Because I am Sun's Light, wife of the Cheyenne chief, Two Ponies.”

“You are from the village of Two Ponies?”

“Yes.”

There was some discussion among the Indians, then Standing Bear spoke again. “We know many in Two Ponies' village, but we do not know Bloody Axe.”

“Ah,” Elizabeth said. “That is because he has only recently taken that name. Before he was Bloody Axe, he was known as Elk Heart.”

There were several grunts and comments before Standing Bear spoke again. “Yes, we know Elk Heart. He is the grandson of Two Ponies. Why would he steal you from his own grandfather?”

“He wanted me to be his woman,” Elizabeth said. “I would not be, so he stole me.”

Again, there was a quick consultation among the Indians. Then Standing Bear asked, “Why is it that Elk Heart has no further need for his horse?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath before she answered. She wasn't sure how they would take it, but she decided to be truthful. “He will have no need of it because he is dead,” she said. “I killed him,” she added.

Standing Bear nodded. “It is good that you killed him.”

“Standing Bear, can you take me to the village of Two Ponies?”

“The land of the Cheyenne is on the sun-coming-up side of the mountains,” Standing Bear said. “Now is the season of snow. It is not a good time to cross the mountains.”

Have I come across the mountains?
Elizabeth wondered. She thought of the weeks she had spent as Bloody Axe's prisoner. She was aware of her hunger, the exhaustion, and the increasing cold. And, yes, she could also remember the narrow, twisting trail that climbed higher and higher until her breathing came as labored gasps, and she felt as if she could reach out and touch the clouds. She had come over the mountains, though she didn't realize it until this very moment.

 

 

Three weeks after the Indian fight, with his shoulder wound still sore but healing without putrefying, Clay and his reduced party reached the eastern slope of the Wasatch Mountains, at Devil's Pass. Leaving the three wagons at the bottom of the trail, he and Parker rode halfway up to have a closer look at the high pass they were expected to negotiate.

It was cold, and as the men and horses breathed, vapor clouds formed around them. The top of the pass was shrouded by a low-lying bank of clouds and here and there Parker could see patches of snow, lying brilliantly white in the sunshine and dark azure in the shadows. The horses were breathing heavily in the thin air, and a couple of times Clay and Parker were forced to dismount and walk so as not to overtax their animals.

The exertion made Parker breathe hard as well, and the cold air hurt his lungs. The thought of pulling heavily loaded wagons up a grade this steep seemed overwhelming, and Parker cringed at the difficulty of the task that lay before them.

Clay must have read his mind. “It's not going to be a walk in the park, is it?” Clay asked.

“No, it sure isn't,” Parker agreed. Nervously he patted his horse on the neck.

“The horses will be all right,” Clay said. “Especially if we get down and walk them through.” He pointed to the cloud-covered spine at the mountain's top. “But that hogback up there is goin' to cause the wagon teams a lot of trouble.”

“Maybe we can group all the mules together and pull the wagons over one at a time,” Parker suggested.

“That's a good idea,” Clay agreed. “In fact, that's exactly what I plan to do.”

“How much farther is Utah, do you think?” Parker asked.

“You mean after we clear this pass?”

“Yes.”

“I'd say it's a little over one hundred miles,” Clay said.

“That seems so far.”

Clay laughed. “Yes, it is, but compared to what we've traveled, it's just across the street,” he said. “The thing we have to worry about now is gettin' our wagons through this pass.”

“It looks like we got here before the heavy snow,” Parker said.

“Yes, we seem to have caught one good break, at least.”

They rode back down to the others to explain to them how they would negotiate the pass. Tobin, who had started the journey as one of the outriders, was now driving what had been Marcus's wagon. He and Jason were standing in front of Pecorino's wagon. Pecorino was on the ground underneath, examining it closely.

“What is it?” Clay asked. “What's wrong?”

“I think I cracked an axle back there,” Pecorino said.

“You think? What do you mean? Don't you know?”

“I heard a loud crack,” Pecorino said. “I've been looking at it pretty close, but I haven't found anything yet.”

“Maybe the wood just flexed and popped back,” Clay suggested. “Cured wood will do that sometime.”

“Maybe,” Pecorino agreed, sliding out from under the wagon. He stood up and wiped his hands together.

“What's it look like up there?” Tobin asked, nodding toward the top of the pass.

“Oh, it's not so bad,” Clay lied. Parker knew that Clay said that so as not to discourage the others. “But Parker and I were talking about it, and we think it might be better if we grouped the teams and pulled the wagons over one at a time.”

“Well, if we're going to do it, let's do it,” Tobin said. “The sooner we get on the other side of the pass, the better I'll like it.”

“I agree,” Clay replied. “Come on, boys, get your teams hitched up to Tobin's wagon, and let's go on.”

All worked together as they began chaining up the three teams of mules to Tobin's wagon. The mules balked at being connected to their burden, but the teamsters persisted until the job was done. Then, when all the mules were connected and the wagon was ready, Clay gave a whistle and they started up the road toward the top of the pass.

“Look at that,” Jason said. “We're going right up into the clouds.”

Pecorino chuckled. “Well, they say every cloud has a silver lining. You boys see any silver up there?”

Jason studied the clouds carefully. They were gray and dingy.

“Can't say as I do,” Jason answered.

“It's just as well,” Pecorino said. “I don't think our wagons could stand to carry anything else.”

Clay made the decision that rather than get the wagons too far separated, he would haul one of them partway up the pass, leave it, then return for the others. In this leapfrogging way, he had all three wagons halfway up the pass by early afternoon. It was, however, very difficult going and the mules were blowing hard now.

One by one, the wagons passed under the boughs of tall, dark pine trees. As they went higher in elevation, though, the trees stopped, replaced by a scattering of gray rock and patches of snow.

What little sun there had been earlier this morning was gone now, and it became a dark, dreary day, so heavily overcast that the position of the sun couldn't be made out, even by the faintest glow. Individual clouds couldn't be seen either—a thick blanket shrouded the towering mountains so effectively that the peaks disappeared into the slate gray sky itself.

As the trail curved upward, the patches of snow grew more numerous, and deeper. Before too long the patches increased in number and crowded closer together until finally the ground was completely covered.

At first the snow was shallow enough that larger rocks and gray boulders would poke up through it. But the higher they went, the deeper the snow became. It eventually got so deep that the bottoms of the wagons began scraping down into the frosty crust. This had the effect of creating a plow so that snow piled up in front of the wagons, making the passage even more difficult. The mules, already weak, started losing their footing in the loose snow, and the wagon was in danger of slipping back.

“Boss! Boss, hold it!” Tobin shouted.

“What is it?” Clay called back. He had been riding in front of the team, pulling and urging them on.

“These mules aren't in any shape to pull these wagons over this pass, loaded like they are,” Tobin said. “Maybe we should disconnect the teams and load what we can onto the backs of the mules and try it that way.”

Clay shook his head. “No, if we do that, we may as well go back,” he said. “We couldn't get half our load through that way. It would break Parker and me.”

“You're going to have to make up your mind pretty soon,” Tobin said. “You can see for yourself we ain't gettin' anywhere with the wagons.”

“I think Tobin has a point,” Pecorino said.

“Yeah, well, whether he has a point or not, I've got no choice but to try it,” Clay replied.

“I've got to get over the pass . . . with everything.”

“What about packing the stuff over on mules, make as many trips as it takes, then pull the empty wagons across?” Pecorino suggested. “We can load 'em up again on the other side.”

Clay was quiet for a moment, then he nodded. “All right,” he finally agreed. “We'll try it that way. Come on, boys, let's get these critters cut loose from the wagons. Then we'll see what we can do about packin' 'em.”

For the next few hours the party worked hard to unload the wagons and to construct packs which would allow them to put their belongings on the backs of the mules. As they were team mules, not pack mules, they were unused to carrying a load. They fought hard to resist carrying the packs but the men persisted until the mules were forced to accept their fate. Finally the animals settled down and were formed into an orderly line. The line was necessary because by now the road was so narrow that it could only be traveled in single file. Slowly, they plodded up the trail.

The footing was treacherous and both man and mule slipped and fell many times. It was extremely rough going, even though Clay and Parker made it somewhat easier by going out front, using their horses to break a path through the snow. In most cases the snow was nearly up to the horses' bellies, but they didn't balk and they managed to do a pretty good job of clearing the way for those who followed.

The wind was blowing hard and carrying before it crystals of ice which cut into the skin like a million tiny knives. It was cold and painful, and it caused everyone to bend his head, or to look away, unable to face it head-on.

“I thought the desert was hard,” Jason said. “I was so hot, I thought I would never be cold again. But this is beatin' it all!”

“Come on, keep going everybody,” Clay shouted. “We're nearly to the top! When we get there, it's all downhill.”

Despite the path that Clay and Parker had cleared, the men were having a hard time keeping their animals going. Sometimes they would lose their load, and when that happened everyone would have to stop until the load was recovered and repacked. The day grew darker, and though they couldn't see the sun, they knew that it was about to set.

Suddenly there was a loud hurrah from the front of the column.

“We're here, boys, we're here!” Clay shouted down at them from the peak. “We've made it to the top! Come on, it's just a little way now!”

The trail was at its steepest and most difficult near the very top, and it became much, much harder to move forward. It seemed as if they were slipping back at least two steps for every three they went forward. They could see Clay and Parker waiting for them at the top of the pass, yet they didn't seem to be making any real progress toward the summit. Finally, in exhaustion and frustration, Pecorino stopped and sat down.

Clay came back down the trail. “Come on, Frank, what are you doing?”

“Look, you don't want half your load on that side, and half over here on this side, do you?” Pecorino asked.

“No, of course not.”

“Well, face it, boss, we ain't gettin' any closer and it's gettin' too dark to see. And I, for one, ain't got no intention of fallin' over the side of a mountain in the middle of the night.”

“Frank has a point, boss,” Tobin said. “Why don't we just wait here for a while?”

“It's getting darker by the minute. We wait here any longer it'll be too dark to try,” Clay said.

“That's what I'm talkin' about,” Pecorino said. “You ask me, we should spend the night right here.”

“No, no,” Clay warned. “We've got to keep going until we get over the pass! We can't stop here!”

“Think about it, boss, we sure ain't gettin' nowhere this way,” Tobin said. “Maybe a fresh start in the mornin' when the mules are more rested will do ya'll some good. That way we can go over the pass in the daylight.”

“But it's just a few yards farther! Don't you see? We've got to get over it and down the other side before the snow starts falling. If we get a good storm, we'll never get out of here!”